Page 20

Lynette

W hen I hear the rustling noise in the kitchen, my first instinct is to text Bullet. I know it’s a mouse. I’ve had them in the house before. This is what comes of only being here on the weekends. I move out. The vermin move in.

I’m currently working on getting Willa’s incorporation documents together so that we can apply for her business license. Bullet and Raiden helped me because I was in a pinch and had zero time, but I didn’t want them to have to do that again. They’re busy enough as it is.

I pause, listening to the scratching noise, my skin crawling. Mice are cute, sure, but they’re better outside, in the wild.

I pick up my phone and bring up Bullet’s texts. Like he always does, he keeps them sweet and respectful. He doesn’t talk club business over the phone. These are personal.

It takes everything I have not to type something sappy like, I wish you were here right now , or Working late isn’t nearly as much fun without you.

Me: I just heard a mouse in the kitchen. Want to come over and test your trap line skills?

I even include a mouse emoji, but quickly delete it all. Nothing about that text screams strong, independent woman . What the hell is happening to me that I can’t even go away for the weekend and not miss him? I’m so easily distracted, dreamy, even mopey. I’m pretty much lacking all of my old discipline.

It’s only the middle of October. We’re just a blip on the radar of time.

But following that logic, aren’t all people?

It’s just after ten, but I give in to the ache slowly spreading through my body, sighing as I type the words.

Me: Want to come over? I know it’s late, so it’s fine if you don’t. The weather is okay and the roads are good. I thought you might appreciate a late-night ride. I could have cookies and tea waiting.

And myself.

Naked.

I fire the texts off before I have a chance to think too hard about them. We don’t do this. Sext. We haven’t even said things like ‘I miss you’, or ‘I’m thinking about you right now’ .

Geneiva, my neighbor, is twenty-something, I think. She’s not very friendly. I’ve probably only spoken with her twice since I moved here, and her yard borders mine. I don’t know anything about her other than what she looks like. I was carrying in things from the car when she stopped me, calling out my name and telling me that her cat just had kittens and she’s starting the search for good homes early.

I caved and said that I’d love not one, but two. I didn’t even ask what colors they are. I have no idea what her cat even looks like.

The upside is that as soon as those kittens are ready to go, which I guess won’t be for a few months yet, my mouse problem won’t have to be solved with traps. I hate setting them, and emptying them out is even worse. Also, I’ll be here more, working from home, so I’ll have time for the pet I always yearned for.

Maybe that will make up for not being able to see Bullet every day.

Just the thought of it makes my chest hurt.

The noise in the kitchen escalates, a creak and a whisper of the floorboards.

Holy fuck, how big are those things? If I have a rat problem, I’m definitely going to make Bullet drive directly here. Fuck the independent thing. I glance at my phone, disappointed that Bullet hasn’t responded in the two point five minutes since I sent those texts. I can’t even go an hour without talking to him while I’m here. How am I supposed to move back permanently in January?

Another whisper noise and a scratch, this time from the hallway, jerks my head up.

On instinct, I reach for something to defend myself, as if the mouse has brought an army to avenge its slain brethren I trapped a few months ago.

I have an old-school metal letter opener to my left, and that’s what I snatch up, curling it tight into my palm.

I’m about to laugh at myself when a shadow looms in the doorway.

My first thought is that it’s Bullet, come to surprise me, but the shape and height aren’t right. I gasp loudly, fear and adrenaline dumping into my bloodstream in a sickly mix.

I don’t know who this man is or how he got into my house. He must have disabled the security because I never got a single ping on my phone. The club set up extra cameras and kept them up. I dearly hope Wizard caught something and that he knows there’s someone in my home and he’s getting help.

But help is in Hart. An hour away, and that’s only to the edge of the city. It would be more like an hour and a half to two hours.

My self-preservation instincts kick in. I tuck my hand with the letter opener behind my laptop, shielding it from the man’s view.

I picture myself surging up, catching him by surprise, going for his neck, stabbing the metal deep into his jugular. There’d be so much blood. Spurts and buckets, fountains and sprays.

I can’t fucking do that. To save my life, maybe, but even picturing it in my head makes my eyes sting and my throat prickle with acid that wants to surge up from my stomach. My mouth floods with saliva, and a horrible cold sweat drenches my skin.

The thug cracks his knuckles. They’re encased in leather gloves, but he still manages to get a sharp crack out of his bones.

The man’s face is what anyone would probably term ugly. Sharp, hard bone structure, a crooked nose, deep pits along his cheeks, and other small scars littering the surface. I suppose that if he was kind and not threatening, I’d see him in a different light. But he just let himself into my house, casual as you fucking please. He’s not even wearing a mask, which speaks to how certain he is that he got past all the security. It also means he doesn’t care if I see him, and that chills me to the bone. I’m not getting out of this alive.

I don’t get a chance to ask him what he wants.

He takes two steps towards the desk and extends a hand, like he actually expects that I’ll just stand up, take it, and fucking waltz out of here with him. “If you think that your sister enjoys having her face attached to her skull, you’re gonna come with me right now.”

“That’s bullshit.” I swallow repeatedly, trying to push back the sick swells of bile that the adrenaline and panic keep wanting to push up. I know Willa is fine. He’s bluffing. There’s no way Atlas or anyone from the club would allow anything to happen to her. “I want to talk to her.”

A dark, ominous chuckle rolls through him. He’s not as big as Bullet, but he’s still muscled and has the look of a soldier. A man used to following orders. For who? An enemy of the club, obviously. It’s outrageous that the first thought that comes to mind is Harold Jacobs, but he’s in Mexico, with Wizard tracking his movements.

That doesn’t mean that he couldn’t make a phone call. Get someone to kidnap me and drag me down there. Hold me for ransom the way the club did to his son.

I want to lunge for my phone, but I stay deadly still. Did these men hit the club in Hart and come to kidnap me at the same time? Did they drive up here after? Do they actually have my sister?

My god, something could be wrong right now and I had no idea. I thought I’d get a call, a warning, something, anything, but what if there was no one left alive or uninjured to deliver it?

I stand up slowly, making a show of complying. I don’t mask my fear, but I do keep my right hand behind the shield of my laptop until the very last minute. I’m already standing. I take one step forward, angling my body out from behind the desk before I lunge. I faint to the right, but at the last second, I duck low and charge straight at him, the letter opener extended in front of me. In my mind, I sink it directly into his thigh and when he bends over, screaming in pain, I send my knee straight up into his chin, snapping bones and crunching teeth, before I run.

That’s not how it happens.

One strong, gloved hand grasps my wrist, twisting until I scream, my fingers losing their power and opening. My weapon clatters harmlessly to the floor.

In a movement so quick that I don’t even have time to register it happening until I’m spun around and facing the wrong direction, the thug grabs me and slaps a hand over my mouth. My back is to his chest and he easily overpowers me, even as I struggle and fight, trying to dislodge his arms and get an elbow into his gut. I try to stamp his feet, kick his shins and knees. I can’t do any of it. He’s too strong and too big.

He easily drags me into the kitchen, where he’s set out ominous supplies on the table. My lungs nearly give out at the sight of rope and zip ties, duct tape, and a black hood. At least he didn’t bring plastic wrap and something to gut me with. There’s no collection of hypodermic needles or a bottle of chloroform.

That could be coming later.

The first thing he does is grab that roll of tape. I’m still trying to thrash, to break free, to get the hell away from him, but he holds me tight and wraps the tape all the way around my head, tripling it over my mouth. It’s so tight that it cuts into my lips. It’s disgusting, the taste bitter. I have to quell my sawing breaths before I hyperventilate and pass out.

While I try to get myself under control, the thug zip ties my hands behind my back. He’s as brutal with them as with the tape, and the plastic cuts into my skin. That done, he wraps the rope around my upper arms a few times, pinning them to my body, slams the hood on my head, and hefts me over his shoulder. He carries me out of the house. I hear the door shut and feel us moving. Down the driveway? I feel a slight slant. The door of a vehicle opens and I’m thrust in, hitting the floor hard. Something industrial, probably, because where the hell are the seats and the carpet?

The engine roars, speeding away.

The thug arranges me into an upright position, shoving my back against something hard, probably the van’s far wall.

I won’t be able to breathe and get through this if my brain shoots off the worst possible scenarios to me, one after the other, so I do my best to block them out.

Still, it’s hard not to picture my phone on the desk at home with those unread texts to Bullet. If the club doesn’t know that anything’s happened to me, then they can’t send help. Will anyone find me? How much can a body survive before it breaks? What can I live through, just because I’m forced to do it?

As horrible as picturing being tortured, raped, or left somewhere for dead is, those haunting images are easy to bear than it is to think that something has happened to Willa. I can’t even go there. I would never, ever survive that.

I have to believe the thug was bluffing about having her. Plus, if they’d hit the club, why would they have to kidnap me? It’s not like they’d need someone to hold as ransom if their demands were already being met by way of force, death, and a hostile takeover.

***

It’s hard to measure time when you’re blindfolded, moving, and scared shitless. Even though I manage to keep myself calm so I don’t suffocate, it could have been hours, or just fifteen or twenty minutes when the vehicle stops.

I scream behind the tape when the thug grabs me, carrying me over his shoulder like a football linebacker. I groan at the jarring way he sets me down, my slippers making contact with what has to be concrete. The air coming through the bag on my head is warmer than outside and smells industrial. If I had to guess, they’ve taken me to a warehouse.

A huge set of hands slams me roughly against something cold and hard. Probably a support pillar. The rough edges dig into my spine. I’m already zip tied and rope tied, but another set of ropes is tugged roughly around my chest, pulling until any air between my back and that pillar disappears.

The hood gets yanked roughly off my head and the duct tape follows, ripping out my hair and burning painfully against my skin. Even the low lights are too bright after that absolute darkness. I blink a few times to clear my watering eyes.

I was right about the warehouse. It’s not some dumpy, unused place, though. There are stacks upon stacks of pallets and boxes wrapped up, ready for shipping. A distribution center? This seems kind of high end for some rather low end kidnapping.

I can’t say I’m surprised when Harold Jacobs steps from the shadows, average in every way despite his expensively cut charcoal suit, leather shoes, flashy watch, and gaudy rings.

He’s ready to tell me why I’m here, as if I can’t guess already. There’s nothing wrong with my brain now. The shock of being taken is wearing off and my mind is already churning over a thousand different options, giving me answers to the endless questions, and trying to find a way out of this.

A man like Harold Jacobs feeds off fear. Don’t all bottom feeders? However he might disguise himself, he’s got a black soul motivated solely by greed. I refuse to let a man like him break me.

I don’t struggle against the bindings, because that would just be foolish, but I quickly set my face in a hard mask that eliminates all traces of emotion. “Kidnapping and a warehouse? Kind of token, don’t you think?” I give him a dispassionate onceover that lets him know I think he’s pretty much the same. Just a cliché villain.

He rolls his shoulders back and keeps coming in those measured strides. The confidence on his face is real. His ego is so big that he thinks he’ll win whatever game he’s playing.

I know I have to still be in Seattle, though it might be the outskirts, or right in the middle, in one of the many industrial areas. “Who owns this place? Aren’t they going to be pissed you’re using it for lowbrow criminal activities?”

He’s close enough now that I can smell his strong cologne. It’s expensive, but he’s used too much and it’s enough to gag a person. Harold Jacobs is a man who thinks he can cloak himself in expensive clothing, jewelry, and cologne. He thinks that by having the best of everything, it makes him worthy of something. Respect? Awe?

Really, I think it all just masks the stench of his mediocrity.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish by taking me.” Either these men never touched Willa because they couldn’t get close enough, or they’re holding her somewhere else. She has to be okay. My brain can’t fathom a world where that’s not true. “But it’s not going to get you what you want. I’m the club’s lawyer, nothing more.”

Harold twists the ring on his pinkie finger. A solid gold band, like he considers himself a real gangster. “You’re Bullet’s whore. That makes you one of theirs. They look after their own. They’ll come for you.”

He obviously gave them the address. It just makes me more doubtful that Willa is here at all. I think she’s safe, though she’s probably panicked about what’s happened to me. It gives me both a bubbling sense of relief and a hot jolt of panic to think of the club mobilizing right now, heading here to get me. They’ll be coming straight into a trap. They have to know that.

I thought Wizard was tacking Harold and Donny’s movements, but the world is vast, and Wizard is just one person. What chance did he really have? It would have been easy enough for them to creep back into the country. But why? Why risk it all when they got away free and clear, especially when the club had gotten them to sign confessions?

Then it hits me that the club sent money to Donny’s victims, but they never paid the blackmail. Harold is still in the same desperate spot. “You think the club is going to pay you millions of dollars to get me back? That’s insane.”

Harold’s jaw clenches, a warning that I should shut up. I can feel the tension radiating from him. He might appear confident, but on the inside, I’m not so sure. He bristles and draws back his hand, but leaves the threat hanging there. He strikes me as the type who likes to issue threats and let someone else carry out his dirty work.

“It doesn’t matter. Tyrant and Raiden are running the place, and they have a stupid, misguided sense of loyalty. Their precious people are all that matters to them. They’re the most pathetic excuse for a club I’ve ever seen.”

He’s wrong. There’s nothing pathetic about men who have a bond so strong they’d do anything for each other. That is the most beautiful form of brotherhood. I thought falling for a man like Bullet, choosing to get on the back of his bike, would be the end of my old life and the old me, but in reality, it wasn’t the end of anything. It was just a beautiful beginning. I’m a part of the club now, and, unfortunately, Harold’s right. They’ll do anything to get me back.

“Even if they were willing to pay it, they don’t have that kind of money on hand.” That’s the truth and Harold has to know that.

He studies his rings again, as though he’s already growing bored with this mundane conversation. “They’ll find it. I didn’t spend years dealing with their fucking shit to not get paid my dues.”

“Your son is a rapist. When is he going to get his dues?”

Something snaps in Harold. I shouldn’t have pushed him, forcing him to confront the truth so brutally. A crazed light flickers on behind his cold blue eyes like a parting with reality. His face scrunches and a sick smile twists his lips.

I was wrong about him not getting his hands dirty. I realize that a second before the backhand blow glances off my cheek. White-hot pain detonates at the impact. My head snaps back and to the side with the force of the blow, my skin splitting and hot blood trickling from the cut his ring just made.

“Shut up, bitch!” Harold commands, spittle landing on my face, stinging the painful burning, broken flesh. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I can’t obey. I can’t be silent in the face of this wrong. “He confessed. So did you.’

He backs off, chuckling manically. “No one will ever believe that those confessions are real. Not when they understand they were taken after torture and under duress.”

“You’re thinking you can just roll over on the club to save yourself once they hand over your confessions to the police, which was your penalty for ever coming back here. You might be protected, sure, but what about Donny? Four counts of rape with evidence? Even with a reduced sentence, he’d still get plenty of time. Do you know what they do to rapists in prison?”

Harold draws back his hand again. I wince on instinct, screwing my eyes shut and waiting for it, but the blow doesn’t land. “I’ll get him off,” he hisses smugly.

“With what? By pleading insanity?” I watch him carefully, realizing that something has happened to him. I don’t know when, but it’s not just evil at work here. It’s like he’s lost touch with reality. “Getting wasted and taking drugs doesn’t count as insanity. Donny wouldn’t last a day in jail, and you know it. By ratting on the club, you’d be implicated in helping them cover up all their illegal activities.”

“I have friends in high places, as you already know. Just the right word in the right ear, and things will go away.”

“You know what I think? You don’t believe that, which is why you resorted to sneaking back here, kidnapping me, and holding me for ransom. You need the money. You can’t stand living in poverty, or maybe it’s just that you can’t leave a score unfinished.”

Another flash of light in his frigid eyes tells me that I’m right. I have to keep pushing, keep telling the truth. Anything less feels like letting Harold win, and I can’t do that, even if shutting up would probably keep me safe.

“You can’t stand that the club had the last word. In your mind, it doesn’t even matter what Donny did. You’re too greedy and drunk on your own ego. I can’t think of a single thing the public likes more than corruption, especially when it’s at the highest level. It makes everyone in the law look bad, but those judges deserve to lose their positions. The law is supposed to be fair and good. Justice is supposed to be served.”

“Says the woman breaking laws all because she’s turned into a little club cum dumpster.”

There was a time in my life when those words would have broken me. My honor was what I valued more than anything else, but I know there’s no such thing as perfectly good or pure evil. There’s no black and white. And just because this man uses those words, doesn’t make them true.

“You can call me whatever you want, but you didn’t have to turn against the club. You could have helped them follow legal channels years ago. They don’t have to be smuggling weapons to make good money. My hands are as clean as they can be, and that’s all that anyone can ask for.”

“You’d do anything for your sister.” His twisted smile chills my blood. “I know that’s true. That’s what a parent does for their child. Whatever they’re guilty of, they’ll find a way.”

“Donny raped four women. What about that do you not understand?” If Willa was hurt like that, I’d also do anything to ensure that the person who did it never saw the light of day again. “Protect him from what? From the consequences of his own actions? You should let me go before anyone from the club gets here, especially Bullet. He’ll rip you apart and there will be nothing I can do to stop that bloodlust once it starts. No amount of begging is going to save you. He won’t kill you, but you’ll wish he did.”

The unmistakable whine of sirens in the distance causes Harold to freeze. He’d kept his hand raised this whole time and was probably about to deliver another blow that would have knocked me senseless, but he freezes. His face empties out, growing mystified, as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing is real.

He can’t believe he’s lost.

“Did you think they wouldn’t make good on their threats to hand your confessions over to the police?” I spit, digging in for the real fight now that I know the end is near. “When this whole thing settles, they’re not going to be the ones who lose. You have to have evidence to bury someone, and any evidence you have will only implicate you. A lawyer can break attorney-client privilege if they know for a fact a crime is going to be committed or if it endangers the public. You would have been obligated to do something over the years. You’d be just as guilty as they are. Arms, drugs, smuggling, whatever it is you think you have against them, you’d only be proving yourself guilty.”

“You’re so fucking sure of yourself,” he screams, grabbing my jaw in his disgusting hand. The scent of him is so strong that I nearly gag. I lock eyes with him and refuse to blink, even when his fingers dig in unmercifully. “You think you can save them? You’re nothing. No one. You’re so fucking—”

“I know that,” I whisper, the words distorted by his hold on my face. “But unlike you, I won’t let my ego get in the way. I’m not the only lawyer in the state and I’m sure as fuck not the only one in the country. They’ll be sure to hire the best of the best to fight this. Even if it drags on for years, you won’t win. Then there’s your confession, signed of your own free will, which you attested to when you signed, that you covered up your son’s crime. Even if you don’t do jail time, Donny will.”

“He doesn’t deserve this!” He shakes my face so violently that my teeth rattle right before the back of my head cranks off the cement pillar behind me.

Black spots float in front of my eyes and the room tilts, but I still hear Harold’s frantic words.

“Those women don’t even fucking matter! They’re just a bunch of stupid sluts. What did they think a college party was going to be?”

I have nothing to say. My stomach churns too violently. All I can do is breathe deeply to keep from being sick all over the cement floor. How can this man be so evil and unfeeling that he’s truly convinced of that?

The sirens grow louder, wailing and screaming clearly getting closer. Harold exchanges panicked glances with the men I now notice standing on the periphery. They’ve drawn my attention because they’re moving, just like the black dots still swimming in my vision. They aren’t going to stand their ground for him and go down for kidnapping. Whatever he promised them, it’s clear they can’t deliver.

They scatter, racing through the warehouse, going for back doors and other exits. Harold follows. It’s hard to believe he’s gone. I can only turn my head so far. I can’t see behind me. The warehouse is terribly empty, the space like a vacuum. My lungs won’t draw in air. I can’t believe this is real or that I’m going to be okay.

Willa. The club. It’s clear Harold couldn’t get to them. They’re okay. They have to be okay.

A sick splashing sound behind me causes every atom in me to freeze. The unmistakable smell of gasoline floods the air, caustic and sickly. The strike of a match comes in slow motion, the sound magnified. The whoosh of the gas igniting echoes through the cavernous space.

“Fuck!” Harold’s voice booms loudly, jarring my sore brain, but then so do his footsteps.

I wrench against the zip ties, rubbing my wrists raw, until hot blood trickles down my fingers. I struggle, twisting as much as I can against the ropes, ramming my spine into the pillar and surging forward, but nothing budges.

Is this how I die? Burned to death?

I don’t hear the roar of the flames. I can’t feel their heat. Is this shock? Is this my body shutting down so that I don’t have to live this horror, taking me outside of it to a place of safety?

“Help!” I scream, though all I can hear is the whine of sirens. “In here!” There might still be someone here. Someone with a gun willing to put a bullet in my head for calling out, but nothing happens. “Please! Help! Please! In here! I’m in here!”

Tears prick my eyes the instant the first uniformed officers rush into the warehouse in a sea of blue. My relationship with police has been tenuous ever since I witnessed how little they cared about finding the man who killed my mother. I understand now that they did care, but that the men handling the case had seen too much death and violence and they came across as insensitive and uncaring. The justice system works slowly, and there are many, many loopholes and pitfalls along the way. I didn’t know that as a teenager, but I know it now.

And I’ve never been more thankful that these men and women do care. They charged in here, heedless of their own safety.

“They’ve lit it on fire!” I yell hoarsely, trying to warn them, but also to hurry them into untying me. “They went out the back! Four men in black and Harold Jacobs in a gray suit.”

Bodies in uniforms rush in like a great tide, filling the warehouse, flashes of blue and black, guns extended, quick rapid-fire chatter.

I’m virtually ignored, but I do hear one officer say to another, on the far side of the warehouse, “They tried to set the place on fire, but all the gasoline did was burn up on the floor. I guess they didn’t have time to do a proper job.”

I suppose securing the area and catching Harold and his men is more important than untying me. I force myself to wait patiently, though on the inside I’m like a bottle of shaken champagne, about to explode. The only thing keeping me upright are the ropes tying me to this pillar.

Finally, I lose the battle to keep silent, watching the frantic scurrying of a small officer, a woman with her hair spun into a tight brunette bun under her hat, and I start begging. “Please.” My voice is drowned out by the chaos, and she rushes right past me.

I have the most disgusting urge to scream. This isn’t the rescue scenario I imagined it would be. Where is Bullet? The club? Willa? Are they safe? They called the police, I’m certain, but maybe it was someone else, just a regular, concerned citizen who saw something.

I try to call out again, but my voice comes out nothing more than a feeble croak.

A few minutes later, when a group of officers heads my way, surrounding me, and they start cutting at the ropes and finally snap the zip ties at my wrist, I stagger forward, rubbing at the raw, bloody marks, trying to chafe the burning pain out of my arms.

Two middle-aged officers corner me as though I’m going to race out of here now that I’m free. Their faces burn with questions, and like the officers who came to the house when my mother died, there isn’t an ounce of sympathy or compassion there. Anger bubbles up in me, but I force it back down. I don’t know who called them. I don’t know how much they know. I’m not going to implicate the club if I can help it.

“Do you have a phone I can use?” I channel my inner badass, the woman who wouldn’t allow herself to be kidnapped and hog fucking tied, who was utterly helpless against Harold and his evil, bound and used as bait. “Please. I’d like to call my sister and make sure she’s alright. Those men said they’d taken her, but I haven’t seen her.”

“I’m Officer Daniels,” the first cop says, at least offering me a forced small smile. “I’m afraid we’ll have some questions that we need to ask first.”

I want to explode at this man. I want to scream and yell and be hysterical. I want to fucking shatter into pieces, but just like when my mom was murdered and no one seemed to be doing anything about it, I have to glue my pieces together.

“I’m extremely worried about my sister. She might have been kidnapped as well. I’ll answer your questions, but I need to reassure myself that she’s okay.”

After sharing a look with Officer Daniels that speaks more to the fact that he wants to be anywhere but here, dealing with anyone but me, the second officer slides a phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and passes it to me.

I dial Willa’s number, fear like razor wire digging its barbs into my flesh. Her voice is the sweetest sound I have ever heard.

“Hello?”

“Willa! Oh my god. Where are you?”

“I’m at the club. Oh, thank god, Lynette.”

She knows I’m calling from a private number and can probably hear the chaos in the background. My sister is smart enough not to say anything, especially over a phone that isn’t mine.

“The police are there. Thank sweet fucking goodness. Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine. You’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

“That’s not all that matters!” she shouts indignantly. “It’s so like you to worry about everyone else before yourself. You’ll be better soon. Hart’s too far from Seattle. There was only one option, but I promise, you aren’t going to have to deal with this yourself for much longer. I’m safe and I can’t wait to see you. I love you so fucking much.”

Tears prick my eyes. I squeeze them shut, narrowing the warehouse down into non-existence, picturing Willa’s face. “I love you too. See you soon. Bye.”

I hang up and pass the officer back his phone. He crosses his arms and they both stare me down. I don’t know why they’re trying to intimidate me, but maybe it’s just force of habit.

“I’ll answer whatever questions you want. Here or at the station. I’m a lawyer, and I’ll be representing myself, so I don’t need to call one. You can read me my rights or whatever, if that’s what you’re going to do.”

The one who gave me the phone blinks. “You’re not under arrest.”

“Right. You both have the bedside manner of a fucking body snatcher straight from the pages of history who can’t wait for someone to die so they can get them to some secret lab, fresh and warm.”

Officer Daniels actually cracks a real smile. “I apologize if we appear gruff. Why don’t you walk us through what happened tonight?”

Determined I wouldn’t say anything about my prior knowledge of Harold, I take them both through, step by step, getting kidnapped from my house, put in a van, and brought here. I drag it out just long enough that by the time Officer Daniels is asking me why it was me in particular who was targeted, I hear the thunderous rumble of bikes slowly stealing up on the warehouse.

Everything and everyone around me pauses, holding a collective breath to listen to the sweetest sound I have ever heard. It’s far, far sweeter than the sirens from earlier, though they drove Harold and his men off. They’ve probably found them and gotten them into their cars outside already.

Hopefully.

Even if they didn’t, Harold won’t manage to evade arrest for long, and Donny, who probably came back here with his dad, won’t evade justice either.

“I’ll answer your questions,” I promise. “But can I have a minute? My family is here.”

I guess he does have something of a heart after all, because Officer Daniels nods. The growl of the bikes pulling up shakes the warehouse, literally vibrating the stacked pallets around us.

Bullet is the first one who charges in. The bikes are still out there rumbling away, so he either left it running, or he was in the lead.

I should be professional, especially with people watching, but the police are going to know everything eventually. At the very least, it’s going to come out that I have connections to the club through Bullet and as their new lawyer, and that’s why Harold made me a target.

Honestly, nothing could keep me from running to Bullet and launching myself at him. He opens his huge arms and catches me. I actually knock him back a step with my momentum, but crashing against him and feeling his arms close around me is the best thing I have ever felt.

I bury my hands in his hair, tugging his face down for a brutal kiss. I’m the one who’s brutal. He’s gentle, his worry and pain poured into the kiss with equal amounts of relief.

“Bullet,” I whimper against his lips. “You’re here.”

“Hart is too far from Seattle,” he says, every word heavy and costly. “It fucking killed me that I couldn’t get here myself. We had to call them. There was no other option.”

They’d given Harold an out once, but he came back, proving that he would never truly stay gone. He was a threat who had to be eliminated and the only way to do that was to have him arrested and to face justice for what he and Donny have done, or to kill him.

I know Bullet wouldn’t have hesitated to tear Harold apart with his bare hands to get to me and save me. I don’t know that he wouldn’t have had to pay the price for it. If he’d lost his head and gone to jail for me, I never would have forgiven myself. Our lives would have been torn apart. Yes, it would have been in the name of self-defense, but with Bullet’s history as a soldier and with his connections to the club, would the prosecution have been as eager to condemn him and make an example of him as they were when he was facing charges for assault against Donny?

His arms tighten around me in response to the terrible shudder that launches itself up my spine and lands in the base of my neck. I pull back, staring into his beautiful face. I can’t believe there was ever a time when I thought this man was anything less than the whole world.

He brushes tears off my cheeks that I don’t even realize I’ve cried. “I won’t tell you what to do, Lynette. I know you’re independent and strong, but I want you with me. I want you in Hart. I want you by my side. I want to make a life with you. None of that is dependent on you moving, but it’s killing me that I was so far away.” He dips his head and speaks in a fierce whisper, just for me. “I would have put a bullet in his head and burned this place down after ripping each of those fuckers apart just for daring to lay a hand on you.”

I grasp his face, sinking my fingers into his beard, smoothing my fingers over his cheekbones just to assure myself that he’s real. He’s here. He’s with me.

“I know.” I fall into the deep pits of his dark eyes. “I know. No matter what, I’ll forever be glad that you didn’t have to do that.” I hug him fiercely, my breath skating over the shell of his ear as I whisper words like his, just for him. “I don’t want you to kill for me. I want you to live for me. With me. Together.”

He nods fiercely, holding me tight as I drink in his scent, his goodness, and marvel at the wonder of him. I’d give up anything and everything for this man.

I realize, as I start coming back to myself, that the other members of the club are here. Tyrant and Raiden are over talking to Officer Daniels and his partner. A few hang back at the entrance. Crow and Reaper are at Tyrant and Raiden’s backs.

I know there’s so much that has to be done, tonight and in the months to come, but I’m immediately comforted by the presence of these huge, rough bikers. I wasn’t messing around when I said that my family was here.

I turn back to Bullet, losing myself in his eyes again. “We’ll be okay.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. The only option I’m ever going to allow.

His hand tightens at the small of my back and my arms twist around his neck again, hugging him fiercely. He needs that as much as I do. My strong warrior with his soldiering hands and his soft, poet heart. I so solidly refused to accept that I could ever be anything less than an independent woman, but I’ve met my match at last. He’d never ask me to give up myself to be with him. He wants me exactly as I am, for who I am. I’ll never have to surrender my drive, my power, my spine of steel, or my unbowed spirit. Those are the things he loves about me, not things he wishes he could break and change.

The only thing I had to change was my heart, and I’ll never regret opening it up and putting it in his strong, capable hands.